


Lost And Found

by Nununununu



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Reunions, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: So the Mandalorian leaves, and Cobb doesn’t miss him at all.This is a stinking lie, of course, but not one he’s about to admit to and certainly not at first.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth
Comments: 7
Kudos: 112
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	Lost And Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Squishy_TRex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squishy_TRex/gifts).



> (Originally posted 14/02; redated for author reveals)

So the Mandalorian leaves, and Cobb doesn’t miss him at all.

This is a stinking lie, of course, but not one he’s about to admit to and certainly not at first.

Never mind if it had felt like something he’d been lacking his whole life had been filled up the moment he’d first set eyes on that helmeted head and heard that voice – that demand. Sure, he’d take it off, even if he hadn’t realised it right away. But by the time they were turning their backs on each other it had been halfway towards becoming _please take it off me_ and, as for what that ‘it’ was – well, _anything you might ask_. But the dragon was dead, the Mandalorian had his quest, and a hope to see each other again at some vague point that probably wasn’t going to happen was honestly more than Cobb had thought he would get.

So never mind if it had felt like something he’d been missing, some vital part of him had been filled up and made whole for the first time ever during those far too short days he’d got to spend with the other man. Never mind if glancing half-reluctantly over his shoulder to watch the other man ride away from them all – from Cobb – had torn that hole inside him open again, everything that had filled him up draining back out.

Never mind that it had _hurt_ enough he’d found his fingers clenching into fists with the need to hold them over his chest. He’d heard the stories. Every kid growing up on Tatooine had, even those who bedded down on hard pallets in the slave camps. Upbringing that he’d had, he’d never had time for them, rarely ever bothered to pay them any heed at all. Until Cobb got to watch the Mandalorian leaving him and it had felt like he was dying.

Funny, that. In all those stories Cobb had half-heard, could half-remember, it had always gone two way. If he’d ever been asked to think of it happening to him – well, he’d have just waved the thought off.

He’d never have wished on anyone this pain, this gaping, rending tearing going on inside his chest as the Mandalorian leaves, as the other man goes further, further, further away from any chance Cobb might have of calling him back, of asking him to stay just that day hour minute second longer.

And the man has his quest, his duty, his Creed, all more important that one planet-bound not quite stranger. Cobb has his own life, his own role, his own far smaller part to play.

So he doesn’t think about him. The Mandalorian. Doesn’t hanker – much – over his own, not his own, lost armour. Dodges a bullet to the head from raiders not three days later, nearly kriffs things up unintentionally with the Tuskens all over again thanks to his big mouth and then puts a whole lot of gradually and very gratifyingly successful work into making things _better_ , making things that little bit closer to even between them, figuring out how to properly share what little water there is and see everyone gets as close to a reasonable amount as anyone feasibly can. Learns a reasonable amount of their language and sees what looks set to be permanent ties built up between their people; sees Mos Pelgo better established after the death of the dragon, more buildings put up and more permanent ones, a proper medic and a new schoolteacher both coming in from elsewhere now people are no longer so afraid to leave their homes, several new smallholdings slowly establishing themselves on the outskirts. A discovery of a new vein in the mines brings in profit. A deputy establishes herself, but Cobb finds he still has plenty of work to do. There are a couple of marriages, a couple more funerals, an illness that sweeps the town to deal with – and it’s now a town, properly, and not a huddled collection of homes doing their utmost to cling fearfully to the ever shifting sand until they’re swallowed by the beast beneath them. A handful of further newcomers looking to settle in, and a few more friendly and unfriendly faces passing through to contend with.

Cobb lives through all this, and doesn’t let himself think of him nearly as often as that ache in his chest might like, even if it feels like the Mandalorian is everything he _can_ think of sometimes. He breathes through it for a couple of years. Then his deputy seeks a promotion, he sees no reason to stop her, and hands over his hat – metaphorically.

Leaving Mos Pelgo for places anew seems to only come naturally after that.

It’s not nearly as a big a thing as Cobb half-expects it to be in truth, although it sure is a wrench at first. Nothing though compared to the wrench that split him apart on watching a man he only knew for a snatched handful of days leave.

Much as he might try to deny it, it feels like he’s travelling towards something, not away. He tries to ignore the sense of expectation – goes to Mos Espa, finds work there for a little while, goes out into the desert and reconnects with the Jawas, goes to a couple of other places and eventually ends up going off-world.

Can’t honestly say he enjoys the experience nearly as much as he might were, say, someone else in particular and the galaxy’s cutest little green kid by his side, but he’s still very much trying to not think about that.

It’s been about three years now, plus a scattering of months. Cobb refuses not to look up at those stars that much when he’s alone of an evening – he’s used to his own company, has always been all right in his own company and will be damned before he admits that he’s lonely – and doesn’t let himself question why he still wears red more often than not, why he still finds himself turning his head on catching a flash of sunlight on bright metal out of the corner of his eye, why he still finds himself glancing at the odd toy in the market and thinking of that curious, bright-eyed little child.

Refuses to keep clutching at his shirt over the hole it sure feels like should be punched in his chest, refuses to confess – if only to himself – who it is he’s hankering for even now, even after all this time, waiting, _waiting_ , for all he determines to keep carrying on.

Refuses to consider himself as _left behind_.

It’s when he’s flat on his back with his head stuck beneath the rusted-up belly of some old thing that by rights shouldn’t still be capable of hovering, let alone doing anything else, that something gives a good old yank in his chest and spits him back out from under it, and he jackknifes up to see a bare-faced, sad-eyed stranger near silhouetted in the doorway to the tiny repairs shop he’s nominally established simply by being there most days and people bringing their stuff by for him to fix and then giving him credits, that Cobb finds all his carefully constructed _won’ts_ and _don’ts_ and _didn’ts_ and _it was just a couple of days of comradeship, why exactly are you letting yourself dwell on this, Vanth_ all fall apart.

“I didn’t expect you to be in Mos Eisley,” is the first thing Din says to him – although he’s not Din quite yet, hasn’t got as far as introducing himself yet this second time around either – and looks vaguely betrayed by this, if Cobb’s got any sort of read on the other man.

Difficult to tell – he feels much like he might have banged his head on the piece of mostly junk he’d been working on with no memory of the impact.

“Do I –” _Know you_.

No, he knows this man; he doesn’t need to ask. Knows the shape of his shoulders beneath the ratty old black cloak, even though their not armoured. Knows the way he holds himself even after so many _seconds minutes hours days weeks months years_ ; something in his recognises this man when he’s never set eyes on him before – or not exactly.

“You know me,” Din’s gaze skitters over Cobb’s, skirts away, traces the edges of the tiny repair shop, creeps back. Cobb’s still sitting there, grease smeared and in his ancient overalls that he’s kept on meaning to throw out and get new, and he’s pretty sure he’s got oil smudged over his cheek and up into his hair.

But for all Din’s holding himself so carefully and so contained – as if he fears rejection, as if he’s worried what Cobb might say perhaps, which would seem impossible except for the fact he doesn’t seem able to school his expression in the slightest – when he finally makes eye contact with Cobb again, he takes a breath in, seems to settle into himself, and relaxes.

“You –” Cobb feels it too. That hole in his chest, that ache, that awful hollowed out scraping sensation of pure pain – it eases. Fades.

So many questions crowd his mind and mouth as he scrambles to get somewhat ungainly to his feet, his attention caught up on the other man to the extent he all but forgets himself – what face he, too, is making and what he’s doing with his limbs.

Din’s there suddenly, right in front of him, his hand held out.

“I _do_ know you,” Cobb gets out, and –

“Yeah,” Din takes another breath in as Cobb accepts that hand, and smiles properly this time, a sweet small smile that makes that warmth unfurl fully inside Cobb’s heart, “Yeah, you know me.”

“You’re –” Cobb starts to say and stumbles over it, given the conspicuous lack of beskar, and this is when Din provides, “Din.”

“Din?”

“Cobb,” Din says it like an answer, and it _feels_ like it, feels like it might just be one in a way Cobb can’t quite rightly explain, but he lets Din pull him up and doesn’t quite stumble towards him, although there’s definitely something within Cobb that seeks to have him step in real close, to lean right into the other man.

There’s something brimming in Din’s dark eyes that implies he might just fail to push Cobb away. That he might just pull him in just as close instead.

“The kid?” Forcing himself to refrain, Cobb makes himself ask instead. Genuinely needing to know, even as he’s aware they’re still standing there hand in hand looking at each other, neither of them making any sort of move to pull away.

“Safe with his people. Happy. Winning everyone over without even trying, the last I heard,” His gaze steady now on Cobb, Din lifts his free hand to close it over his chest, over his heart, as if he’s feeling the same tug, the same yearning to get _closer closer closer_ , the same need to just keep holding on and never let the other go again.

“You did it?” Cobb licks his lips, doesn’t quite bite them when that gaze drops to his mouth, “You did, didn’t you. You succeeded in your quest.”

“Yeah,” This isn’t quite a whisper.

Telegraphing the movement, Cobb brings his own free hand up until Din nods just a little and he can run his fingertips over the other man’s cheek; until he can feel Din tip his head lightly into the touch.

“I’ve spent some time searching for you since,” Din continues unexpectedly. Those eyes of his just as warm as the heat in Cobb’s chest, “You’re a surprisingly difficult man to find, Cobb Vanth.”

Cobb can’t help the crooked smile that spreads right across his face at that, “Well, it seems like you’ve found me.”

Din’s smile is still lighting his whole face up. Cobb can’t say whether he leans down first or Din leans up, but either way he has to taste it, and then they’re kissing and it’s at once like everything he wouldn’t let himself admit that he longed so very much for, and even better than that.

“Yeah,” Din agrees, when they pull back for just enough time to each take a breath in, feet having shifted them each in that bit closer until they’re pressed heart to heart, “It seems like I have.”


End file.
